Nefarious
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a crime lord and Viktor Krum needs a favor. SLASH Viktor/Draco Birthday present for Nefarious!


A/N: A birthday present to my dear friend, who shares a name with this title.

**Nefarious**

The War changed many things. Respected politicians were revealed to be sick servants of the Dark Lord, and cast into prison. Civilians learned the hard way that their government was in no way capable of defending or protecting them, and learned how to protect themselves. The face of the Wizarding United Kingdom was forever changed. It was a hard face, and scarred, but stronger than ever.

In the tumult, reputations were made and broken.

Draco Malfoy, heir to the largest fortune in the entire island, forged a new reputation for himself. Before he was nothing, shadowed by his father's brilliance and then his crimes; not so anymore; now there wasn't a single skulking dark wizard that didn't know his name. He was known as the master smuggler, the master criminal, but uncatchable. Britain knew he was guilty, but time and time again he slipped through their fingers. No matter what they tried, they couldn't seem to pin any guilt on him, as though he was a greased pig.

His reputation spread out of Britain and finally reached the ears of one Viktor Krum. He had known Draco briefly during the Triwizard Tournament, but hadn't thought of him for years.

Viktor needed a favor that only a crime lord could attend to.

He took a port-key to cross the distance between his native Bulgaria and Scotland, where Draco currently lived. His ancestral home was destroyed during the war, ransacked and torn to pieces by both sides. Neither found the Dark Artifacts they were looking for, safely stowed away in a safe house.

A human butler greeted him at the door and escorted him to the 'Teal Parlor'. He was told that Master Malfoy would be with him when he was available. Viktor nodded curtly and refused the offer of something to drink. Once alone, he snooped around, looking in cupboards and into books for secret compartments.

He soon bored of this and began to pace. When the clock told him that three hours had gone by since his arrival, he got fed up and exited the parlor. He knew he was meant to wait, and that it was quite common for the wait to be inordinately long when one's host was popular, but he was never a patient man. He dodged the bustling servants and even a feeling house guest, ducking into alcoves and behind suits of armor.

Peeking into each door he passed, he finally found what he was looking for. It was towards the back of the house, with a slightly more ornate doorknob than the others. Checking over his shoulder, he eased the door open and slipped inside.

It was a study, though it could've passed for a library with the shelves that overran the walls and stretched up to the ceiling. There were more stacks decorating the floor, sorted by topic, and the desk was a fright. Drawers burst with papers and maps, and there was a veritable mountain of dirty dishes on one side of the desk. The other was dominated by a birdcage, inside which a phoenix slept with its head beneath one wing. He blinked, not expecting a crime lord to have a pet so frequently associated with purity.

The only light came from a pair of narrow windows sliced between the shelves, and the glowing fireplace. It was chilly even with the heat from the fire. Judging from the mess and poorly-made fire, the servants weren't allowed in here.

A quiet rustling sound drew his attention to the long leather sofa facing the even longer fireplace. He crept over and peered over the back of it to find his host asleep, a book open on the floor, where it must've fallen.

For all of the nasty things people have said about him, Draco looks utterly peaceful in sleep. He's laid out on his back in an elegant sprawl, right arm wrapped over his waist and left dangling with his fingers brushing the floor. His breathing is soft and slow, lifting wayward strands of pale hair that spill across closed eyelids. A nap would explain why Viktor had to wait so long.

He looked young; too young.

Viktor sighed and wondered if he'd made a mistake by coming here. He couldn't ask this young man, barely an adult, to arrange an assassination. About to leave, he risked one last look and found gray eyes awake and watching him with sleepy interest.

"Krum?"

He nodded.

Draco struggled into a seating position, half-heartedly smoothing his hair and tugging his shirttails back into the waist of his trousers. He smiled a little, shaking his head, "I never thought I'd see you in my personal office, Krum. What can I do for you?"

Viktor considered making something up, but then decided that he may as well say what he came here to say. "I would like you to arrange for someone troublesome to be killed."

Draco raised his eyebrows, "I beg your pardon?"

"Ah, you don't do murders?"

"Oh, I do murder, yes. But not for free and not for just anyone; I have a reputation to uphold. Who is this person and what has he done?" He stood and waved his wand at the dirty dishes, vanishing them to the kitchen.

"He forced himself on my sister, and I cannot risk my career to kill him myself, so I must act through someone else. My sister had not stopped crying for a week, Mr. Malfoy. It is very important to me that this man is killed. I will pay whatever price you ask."

Draco was quiet for several minutes, and then he said, "Your English has really improved. I can barely tell that you're foreign now. You just speak a little stiffly; that's the only clue."

Viktor frowned and said nothing. Was Draco not taking this seriously?

His host wandered around his office, apparently deep in thought, vanishing the many cups and saucers and half-finished plates that decorated his shelves and collected under the leathern sofa. Viktor sat on it and picked up a copy of the newspaper two weeks old. There was an article about him on the third page, speculating about his love life. He smirked. He hadn't so much as looked at anyone like that in years. Not since Hermione.

She never returned his feelings with the same intensity he felt for her, and that was fine. He wasn't what she wanted. He'd made his peace with that realization years ago. No good would've come out of dwelling on it.

Draco sat beside him suddenly, and opened a leather calendar. The day, month, and year were all calligraphically lined up across the tops of the pages. He'd written in his appointments with red ink the color of geraniums.

"So…I can get one of my better men free this Thursday. And he speaks Romanian, so that should be good…" he trailed off, chewing his thumbnail. Viktor could not help but stare. This young man was so different from the stiff boy he'd known, who always followed every rule of etiquette so well that it made you embarrassed to be seen beside him lest you look uncouth. Draco took his thumb out of his mouth, looked at him, and asked, "Does that work for you?"

"Yes. He is in prison; I have his cell location figured out," he reached into his jacket and removed the packet of papers, handing it to Draco. Draco took them and flipped through the information, nodding.

"This is all in order, and will be very helpful. Now, let's talk details."

It was decided that his death should be swift but as painful as possible, and that Viktor would pay just under a thousand pounds, which included the cost for Draco's 'man' to cross the border and get where he needed to be.

"Stay for tea?"

Viktor glanced at the clock. It was past tea, if his memory of British customs remained intact.

"Of course."

He left just after ten, pleasantly drunk and wondering why he hadn't thought of writing Draco all these years. There wasn't a speck of that spoilt entitlement about him any more, and he was an excellent host when you had his attention.

~000~

He returned a week later, after the kill had been confirmed, to pay for the services rendered. Draco accepted his check with grace and a smile.

"I hate to lunch alone when I'm not working, and I don't feel like work at this moment. Do say you'll stay!"

Viktor stayed. Draco took a white wine Viktor didn't catch the name of with their lunch of duck and light chive and potato soup. Viktor found himself tipsy again, though Draco exceeded him in that respect. Leaning on his shoulder, seated on the fantastic leather sofa, Draco slowly picked at the tray set up in front of them, on which was melon and nectarines for dessert. He ate with his fingers, so Viktor followed his example.

Working up his nerve, he finally asked, "Draco?"

"Yes?" Draco hummed, peeling apart a segment of nectarine and looking intently at its flesh.

"Why did you choose to become…what you are? Why not become a simple businessman?"

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Draco said, "Well, I noticed that there was a large discrepancy between what the Ministry promises and what it actually accomplishes. It promised justice, and yet our justice system is in shambles. Murderers are allowed to run free, as are rapists and the criminally insane. I tried to ignore it, but it got to me. You see… the government as we, or I, know it often serve a narrow set of elite interests instead of the public good. This is what has resulted in not only corruption, but a crumbling economy as well. So I think of my job as bridging that gap. It's illegal, but I believe its right."

Viktor didn't say anything, but he agreed. Draco shifted his head on his shoulder, and a piece of his negligently-styled blonde hair tickled his nose. He smiled.

"May I come and see you again later with no business?"

Draco nodded, looking up at him, "I'd like that."

He chewed his tongue, and then asked, "May I kiss you as well?"

"I'd like that _very much."_

~000~

End Nefarious'

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NEFARIOUS! I am aware that this was lacking in scandal, but it would be creepy for me to write sex for your birthday.


End file.
